It featured a lot of Captain Hook (Also known as the beautiful and charming Killian Jones), along with a good deal of time travel.

My subconscious was greatly impacted by these things.

The first time I noticed it was when I stumbled to the bathroom around 1am – stupid water intake.

When I headed back to bed, I ran into the door.

“OW!”

Chris sleepily answered, “Are you okay?”

…except that I heard his response in Captain Hook’s indeterminately British/Irish accent.

Perhaps Chris was also dreaming about Once Upon a Time. Or perhaps I’m just psychotic in my sleep. Most likely the latter.

“Yes, I’m fine. I ran into the door. Hurt my foot.”

Again in the sexy accent, “I’m sorry you’ve been hurtin’ your hands and feet so much t’night, Love.”

I got in bed, confused about so many things. My mind began churning at all of the questions.

Was my husband talking in a Pirate’s accent?

Am I awake or asleep?

Why did he say I hurt my hands? I haven’t hurt my hands. Has he traveled into the future and seen that I hurt my hands later in the night or something? I hurt my hand sleepwalking that one time…is he talking about “night” in a more general sense?

I feel it necessary to say that I distinctly remember having ALL of the above thoughts. Then I drifted off to sleep again, confused but cozy.

Until 2am.

When there was a Pirate on the end of our bed.

On the end of our BED, people!!

I lept out of my sleeping position and pushed him off the bed, where he presumably tumbled two feet to his death.

I heard a loud crash, then I felt an agonizing and stabbing pain in my arm.

That Pirate just slashed off my arm. My LEFT arm?! Seriously, dude? Have some respect for the left-handed woman.

Then the pain grew worse, and woke me up enough to realize that there was probably….not a Pirate lying in our floor, wounded by my heroic save of our Marriage Bed.

For the second time that night, I stumbled to the bathroom. The pain was getting worse. My entire arm felt like it was being yanked, twisted, and set on fire in some sort of Sadistic Willy Wonka’s Torture Chamber.

I turned on the light and looked at my arm – no blood this time. An improvement!

….Were it not for THE UNENDURABLE PAIN.

I managed somehow to open an ibuprofen bottle and count out the maximum dosage (four pills. But I wanted more.)

Back to bed, where my water was on my bedside table.

But it was dark. And I’m left-handed. I reached out with my left hand and shrieked in pain at the movement. I had my pills in my right hand so there was no logical way to reach with my right hand. OBVIOUSLY.

Chris finally roused. I have no idea how that man can sleep through me fighting a Pirate off the end of our bed and getting mortally wounded in the process. Maybe because he’s had nearly fourteen years of practice.

“What’s wrong?”

He had noticeably lost his Captain Hook lilt.

I started crying. The pain was so piercing that I was sure I had decapitated my arm nerve.

“I can’t even reach my waaaaaaater!! And I need to take these pilllllls!! It hurts so baaaaaaaad!”

He handed me my water and started pacing.

“I can’t believe you’re still hurting this bad.”

“What are you talking about? This just happened!”

“Oh wait. You’re not talking about your infection from last week?”

“NO! Didn’t you see? I hurt my arm sleepwalking because there was a Pirate on the end of our bed! IT HURTS SO BAD.”

By this time, my fingers were curling up against their will and shot fireballs down my arm if moved. I was nearly certain that I had caused significant and irreversible nerve damage – I’d never be able to type again, to hold a pen again, to text again, to gently stroke my children’s faces again, to drive again, and I’d certainly never be able to unload the dishwasher or vacuum out the car again.

“I will take you if you need me to. You have a very high tolerance for pain. This has to be bad.”

I began reminiscing on our last middle-of-the-night emergency room visit – one that required many stiches in the center of my hand. Every doctor and nurse in that hospital popped into my room to hear me say it.

“How’d you do that to your hand?”

“I was sleepwalking and dove at our dresser to save my baby from falling down the stairs. The dresser has very sharp drawer-pulls.”

A few minutes later, presumably driven by the last visitor patting them on the shoulder and saying “Go ask Room 130 what she did to her hand. You’ve GOTTA hear this one.”, another doctor would peek in on me, feigning care and empathy.

NOPE.

I wasn’t ready for that again.

So that Chris could get some sleep, and because there was NO WAY I could sleep or even quit whimpering from the ever-growing pain, I went downstairs and laid on the couch, where I began trying to remember my Human Anatomy education.

Is there some sort of small arm bone that could be fractured?

This feels just like that time in 7th grade that I broke my wrist. My fingers are definitely doing the same thing.

Maybe I never sleptwalked and really I have bone cancer and I just dreamed that I injured myself to explain the pain. Maybe I’m about to die! Or worse – my arm is going to fall off!

I guess I’ll have to get X-Rays tomorrow. And maybe an MRI. And a PET and a CAT. A full-body scan would be most efficient. But I can’t drive! And Chris has a deadline. I’ll get my parents to take me. NO– I’ll get one parent to stay with the kids and one parent to take me. I DO NOT NEED my kids jostling me right now.

Then I began thinking about the more serious repercussions of my injury.

Which is why, I suppose, I took this weekend as an opportunity to break my nose, while sleepwalking, whileat a blogging conference.

Friday night. It had been a full day of BlogHer, and I was excited for a night of deep sleep in preparation for my San Diego Date Saturday with Chris.

We settled down for bed, and I fell asleep before Chris made it back from brushing his teeth.

It was glorious experience to inhale the deep aroma of sleep.

Until about 1 AM.

At which time I dreamed that Noah was running toward a balcony edge to the left of the bed.

Naturally, I jumped up and sprinted toward him, doing my Mommy job of saving him from all danger…

Which is when I discovered how close the wall was to my side of the bed.

THWAP.

I crushed my nose and my left knee into the wall.

…which woke me up enough to remember that Noah couldn’t walk yet, certainly couldn’t run, and also happened to be 2,000 miles away.

Chris didn’t move, being quite used to wives that go bump in the night.

I crawled back into bed and fell asleep, albeit a bit damaged.

Then came 2 AM.

I dreamed some combination of Ali running toward a cliff and being on an intense search for The Deathly Hallows.

Naturally, I jumped out of bed and sprinted toward her.

Which is when I was reminded how close the wall was to my side of the bed.

THWAP.

I also discovered that I run much faster at 2 AM than I do at 1 AM.

The pain in my nose (and my knee) created tears – the kind that naturally spring forth from sheer agony, not from crying. I sat down on the corner of the bed and let out my first whimper, considering the weighty reality that I had just managed to run into the same wall twice in one night.

This did not bode well for my 2AM to 8AM sleep shift.

I whimpered again.

I felt my nose. I heard a crunchy sound. I was reminded of my favorite childhood cereal.

It was clear that my nose couldn’t withstand that side of the bed anymore.

I nudged Chris.

“Wha…what’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep on this side of the bed anymore. I’ve sleptrun into the wall two times, and I broke my nose the second time.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll swap sides with you.”

He rolled over to my side and resumed snoring peacefully, in no danger of breaking his nose against the clearly hazardous wall.

I moved to Chris’ side of the bed. Obviously, I couldn’t sleep. My nose was throbbing, I was possibly in shock (okay probably not), and, most disturbing, I was on the wrong side of the bed.

And so my mind began spinning…

2:05 AM: I always thought feng shui was feng crap. This is not true. The design of my sleeping environment is so important that it very well may keep me from accidentally offing myself one day.

a. I need a runway next to my bed. No walls can be within five feet, and blinking lights need to be added to all surrounding surfaces.

b. No sharp edges on any bedroom furniture can be tolerated.

c. You know what would be perfect? A padded cell.

2:12 AM: It helps to already know that little can be done for broken noses. You’re not going to get me with your out of state 50% insurance coverage, Blue Cross Blood Suckers!

2:16 AM: It is nice to be rooming with one’s husband. If this had happened my first year at BlogHer and I’d had to ask my I-Just-Met-Her roommate if she would kindly mind swapping sides of the bed with me to prevent the crushing of my nose for the third time in one night, it might have been slightly embarrassing, aside from taking a bit longer to explain.

2:18 AM: Could I petition for a new Americans With Disabilities Act ordinance that prohibits hotel walls from being within five feet of beds? Because I singlehandedly prove that sleepwalking is a disability.

2:22 AM: I am so proud to know that my husband no longer doubts my credibility when I tell him that I’ve severely injured myself in my sleep. Last time, I had to show him the blood streaming down my arm before he quit telling me to get back in bed and go to sleep. This time, I received his complete and immediate acceptance.

2:36 AM: Maybe too much acceptance. He sure is sleeping peacefully over there.

2:39 AM: One should never play with their broken nose while laying in bed and pondering their situation. The sound of tiny particles cracking and grinding is not healthy for one’s nose, one’s pain level, or one’s mental stability.

2:48 AM: My last sleepwalking injury was saving Ali from certain falling, as well. Obviously, I have issues with small children running in high places. Noah, don’t do it. I’m likely to plummet to my death in the attempt to protect you, and that’s a weighty guilt for you to carry for the rest of your life.

2:51 AM: Although a broken nose is quite painful at 2:51 AM, also achy are my neck and shoulders, now most certainly needing an adjustment. Apparently, hitting the wall at high speeds with one’s nose is not good for alignment.

2:52 AM: The knee rash from multiple contacts with the wall is also bothersome. Which is pretty petty at this point.

3:01 AM: I can’t sleep on the wrong side of the bed. Which is worse – not sleeping for the rest of the night, or risking a third injury?

3:09 AM: Not sleeping.

And so I tapped Chris again.

“Wha..what’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep on your side of the bed. I need you to swap back with me.”

“Okay.”

He rolled back over and continued sleeping hazardlessly. He has no idea how good he’s got it.